


Until We Meet Again

by deansundies



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Chronic Illness, Drug Use, Family Feels, I really hope I didn't fuck up how Lupus is, I thought of this title five seconds ago, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Older Characters, Romance, Tagging is really hard, in which jean is a lil shit, smut later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-02-26 02:41:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deansundies/pseuds/deansundies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is a happy working dad, content with his current situation. Jean is homeless, jobless and alone, searching for his next fix. Marco's life summersaults when the past literally falls on his door, leaving him wondering what has changed since they last met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marco

**Author's Note:**

> "I would cross oceans  
> cross mountains  
> fly planes over deserts  
> just to get away, and yet,  
> I couldn't live a day  
> without seeing your face  
> because to me you are the world."

Marco's house was quiet, but alive with activity. Getting his little girl to bed always brought with it a storm of activity. First there was the task of getting the giggly blonde to the bathroom, then keeping her in there while the bath was running. Every time Marco peeled a shirt or a sock, the little devil would wiggle out of his grip and shoot out of the bathroom, cackling through the house. He then had to chase her until he scooped the blonde child into his arms and plunked her into the tub. This was occasionally followed by a short tantrum, with complaints that there was soap in her eyes and that she was not tired in the least, so therefore she didn't have to take a bath. Usually she was cooperative, and would crawl into her pajamas without a fuss. 

Tonight Marco was reading _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ , with his daughter tucked under a Spiderman comforter. Her blue eyes drooped; she barely was taking in the quidditch pitch as Harry was. A thump and shattering interrupted him mid sentence.

"Wha happened next...?" She yawned into the pillow. 

"You'll never hear it if you're asleep."

"Mmot asleep."

"Yes, of course not." Marco closed the book, laying it softly on her bedside table, next to the lamp shaped like a blue unicorn. "I'll see you tomorrow baby."

"Night daddy." Her statement was followed almost instantly by a tiny snore. He crept from her room and closed the door gently. Worry struck his face as soon as he was out of her room. That crash had sounded close; Marco hoped it hadn't come from inside. Easing down the stairs, her grabbed the baseball bat from the hallway closet. Carefully he peered around the corner. 

The small glass window by the door was broken. A hand was squeezing through the glass, pawing for the doorknob. Marco inhaled sharply- someone was trying to break into his house. 

Quietly he slid towards the door, placing his fingers on the tip of the handle. The hand had not yet reached the knob. Silently Marco screwed up his courage, counted to three, then swung the door open, holding the bat ready. 

The man blinked. 

Marco blinked. 

He was leaning on the wall by the door, his arm stuck in the window. His amber eyes were rimmed with red, tawny hair sticking in every direction. He looked like he hasn't slept for days. Marco gaped, lowering the bat slowly. 

"M'thirsry. Got any vodka?" He croaked.

Marco just stared. Then the man collapsed on his doorstep.

"Jean?"

 


	2. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HERE'S MY BABY I LOVE HER SO MUCH  
> AAAH  
> I'm a bit excited about that tbh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Not really sure how to feel about it  
> something in the way you move,  
> Makes me feel like I can't live without you...  
> and I want you to stay."  
> (Stay, Rihanna)

Oh God he was thirsty. If only Jean could force his stupid eyelids open then he could go find something to drink, but his eyes remained stubbornly shut. A pang in his hand registered somewhere, but he'd take care of that the second his throat stopped being so dry. 

A _creak_ caused his eyes to tear open, and he swore immediately after the light in the other room assaulted his retinas. Where was he? 

Jean looked around him, noticing he was in a smallish house on a lumpy green couch. In the other room somebody was moving; the sink was going. Soft clinks from glasses and plates made their way through the doorway. The man looked up from the sink. 

"Jean! You're awake." He sounded relieved. 

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here." Jean slid back a bit. Shocked out of his mind, he glared at the freckles on Marco's forehead. 

"This is my house?" Marco wiped his hands, staring at Jean. "You tried to break in a few hours ago." 

Shit. He'd tried to break into Marco's house? He distinctly remembered that he was making his way to Connie's house... even though had been a bit out of it. 

"You scared me." He sat on the couch next to Jean with a sigh. "You look sick, are you feeling ok?" Marco raised his hand to Jean's forehead. 

Jean jerked back a mile. "I'm fine!" 

"You're burning up." Marco frowned. 

"Fine." Jean mumbled. "I'm fine." 

Marco looked worried, but did not move again. "How's your hand?"

He hadn't even noticed the bandages around his fingers and wrist. "Super." Jean couldn't hold in the sarcastic response.

Marco sighed. "Nice to see you haven’t changed. Need something to drink?"

Jean's throat screamed out at the thought of a drink. "Sure. Water." His voice scratched at the last word. He watched Marco duck around the corner and fill a glass. Jean tried not to drink it like he'd been parched for days. He succeeded only in looking like a grumpy, thirsty kitten.

Marco sat with him in a comfortable silence. He watched Jean lean his head back on the couch, eyes looking red and dry. Everything about him looked dry at the moment- his lips were chapped, skin dry and flaking. Bags fell under his eyes, still striking even in their tired state. In fact despite everything, Jean still looked amazingly attractive. He watched the ceiling for a while. 

"Shouldn't you have like... called the cops?" Jean ventured softly.

Marco gave him a raised eyebrow. "Do you want me too?"

"Not really." Jean sighed. 

"How have you been? Since..." Marco pondered the last time he'd seen Jean. "Connie's graduation party?"

"Pretty ok." Jean lied pathetically. "Just been, you know, meeting new people." If you counted dealers and the people he hooked up with for free needles. 

"I see." Marco saw right through. "Well you should have called if you were going to drop by." 

"I was a bit surprised myself really." They danced around Jean's forced entry carefully, neither willing to acknowledge it. Finally Marco bit the bullet. 

"You asked me if I had any vodka."

"Well do you?" Jean finally looked at his face. The next words tumbled from Marco's mouth before he could stop them. 

"Why are you here?"

Jean stared at him, opening his mouth to answer. 

"Daddy?" Tiny feet trudged down the steps, and Jean went still from shock. A tiny blonde girl climbed on the couch next to Marco and slumped on his arm. She was thin with light skin, a bit of redness dotting her cheekbones. She was dressed in dark green pajamas with a wildflower pattern, hugging a pink pony. Through her tired, half closed eyes he saw the most gentle blue color staring right at Marco. She was beautiful, and delicate looking. Jean's jaw hit the floor.

"I can' sleep."

"Do you want to watch TV?" He asked softly, putting his arm around her. 

"Yes Please." She lay on his lap as Marco flipped the TV on and changed it to the weather channel. She then locked her eyes on Jean, which made him suddenly very uncomfortable. "Daddy, who's that?"

Marco scoffed lightly. "Krista, be polite."

Krista's eyes never moved. "Sorry." Then they slid back to the TV. 

Marco rubbed her back gently. "This is Jean, he's my friend from school."

Friend. That stung. Their entire relationship had zoomed way past friends in school, but Marco demoted him from "the greatest sex I ever had Jean" to "friend from school Jean". Part of it was because there was a little girl in the room but still…

"Mmk." She was already uninterested. That too stung. 

They sat watching the weather channel. It was oddly calming, he saw how it helped Krista to sleep. Her soft snores hardly were heard above the soft jazz of the forecast. 

"So... you have a kid."

"Seems so." Marco kept rubbing her back, looking fondly at her. 

"I didn't know that."

"I'd already lost touch with you when Krista was born."

"Lost touch." Jean frowned at the words. 

"You're right. When I told you I couldn't screw you anymore and never heard from you again." His tone was bitter as he scooped his daughter up, carrying her to the stairs. "Get some sleep Jean; I know you need it." 

Jean so wanted to leave just to spite him. But the last time Jean had been in a warm house without having to suck somebody's dick was... a very long time. Plus Marco's couch was comfortable. He patted his pride down under the blankets, quickly becoming just as asleep as the tired blonde upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the only time Connie gets mentioned, so if that's why you're here you should probably go... though I'm not entirely sure so maybe stick around if you feel like watching this two dorks dance around each other for a while. Chapters may get progressively longer; gotta keep it casual right now because school is riding my ass really hard.  
> Thank you for the lovely kudos and that one person who bookmarked this, cookies for all.


	3. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I APOLOGIZE FOR BEING A HORRIBLE HUMAN AND NOT UPDATING  
> but you know what you signed up for so deal.  
> I should really just name this "A place to store all my headcannons"

"Ja ... ich sehe, ja. Danke, Reiner." Jean wondered what the fuck Marco was saying, his drowsy ears not picking much up. It sounded like he was communicating with somebody by coughing and spitting. He lazily cracked an eye open, the light from the window immediately making him wish he hadn't. Marco was in the kitchen, packing food into a lunchbox with wonder woman on it. A phone was squished between his shoulder and ear, which he grabbed after dropping a bag of carrots into the bag and zipping it up. The conversation over, he stuffed his phone back into his pocket and stuffed the lunchbox into a backpack. He went to the stairs.

"Krista!" Marco looked really silly with a tiny wonder woman backpack on his shoulder. With his eyes adjusted to the light, Jean sat up.

Krista thumped down the stairs, wearing a light purple dress and white tights, running a brush through her hair. "Did you take your medicine?" Marco asked. She made a little eep! noise before dashing up the stairs. Marco turned to Jean.

"Can I trust you not to rob my house while I drop Krista off at school?" His eyebrow raised, eyes boring into Jean.

"No." Jean frowned, then blushed like a schoolgirl. "I mean- fuck- yes, you can trust me, no I won't steal your stuff."

"Good." Krista hopped back down the stairs. "Do you have sunblock?" Marco asked expectantly. She made another eep! noise, dashing back up.

"There's something to eat in the fridge." He grabbed the keys off of the wall.

Jean scoffed."Thanks mom."

"If you'd like to go to your private caterer be my guest."

Jean smiles a little, the snark a welcome change to the awkwardness of earlier.

"Remember to put away your plate." Krista stomped down once again, holding a tube of sunblock. Marco stuffed it in her backpack, then knelt down to tie a sunhat under her chin. "Ready to go?"

"Ready!" she bounced up, running down the hallway to the door.

Marco gave her a soft smile, turning to Jean."Back soon."

Jean heard the car roll away, but remained still for several minutes. His head was pounding; whatever Connie had cooked up for him the other night was some bad shit. Looking around the house, he kicked himself for not really noticing the dollhouse in the corner or various toys around the living room floor. Next to the TV was a stack of Barbie movies unacceptably high to belong to a man living by himself. There were even pictures of the little blonde, Krista, growing up on the walls. Another sunhat, too small for Marco, hung from a hook. There was every indication a child lived here, which Jean had missed. Of course he had missed it; he missed everything.

Jean let himself relax on the couch, recalling the Marco he had known before. This Marco was strange to him- predicting him perfectly, slightly cynical- and yet, he seemed exhausted. Sad even. A few years ago his Marco had been cheery and excited, filled with wonder; Jean could only wonder why their night had been so different from the many they had spent together in high school. Jean leaned his head back on the wall, scanning the pictures of Krista in Marco's arms, then one of her sitting on a swing giggling. She was eating a grilled cheese sandwich in the next one, eyes screwed in concentration, cutting it into smaller pieces. She was riding a bicycle. She was squatting by a pond. She was reaching toward the camera, laughing. She was a beautiful child.

A grumble interrupted his thoughts, originating from his stomach. This was followed by a groan from the man as he stood to get to the fridge. His whole body ached; his head continued to complain; every time his eyes closed they burned. His hand didn’t feel too great either. Jean sighed and opened the refrigerator, after glancing at another photo of Krista looking at a picture book.

Inside was a plate wrapped in tin foil, with a milk carton next to it. Jean pulled both out, bumping the door closed with his hip and setting it on the counter. Under the tin foil was an omelette, with an alka-seltzer tablet on the corner of the plate. It was surprising to him, again a reminder that this Marco was not the same Marco he had kissed and seen sunsets with. This Marco didn't love him.

He yawned and dropped the tablet in water, watching it fizz in the glass. It felt like the nectar of the gods; it was hard to not down the whole thing. Jean scooped up the omelet while standing by the fridge, suddenly beyond ravenous. This had to be the first food not bought at a gas station he'd had in weeks. Finally, something that didn't taste like cardboard.

Jean stared at the empty plate, suddenly embarrassed and self conscious. He was in a practical stranger's home, alone, eating food prepared by that stranger. He'd been in some crappy situations before, but nothing as weird and alien as the social confines of an ex-lover. Was this really ok?

The door swung back open and Marco stepped inside. He met Jean in the kitchen, and dropped his keys on the table. The men were quiet for a few minutes, but not in a terribly uncomfortable fashion.

“Do you have a job?” Marco asked casually, pulling out a folder and slipping on a pair of glasses.

Jean felt a lump grow in his throat. “No.”

“Then go take a shower. You have an interview in an hour.” Marco didn’t even look up from what he was writing on.

“I have a what?” Jean protested, standing up straight.

“An interview.” Marco looked over the rim of his glasses, making Jean picture him as a tired, tousled librarian. “You have had an interview, right?”

“Yes I've had a fucking interview” Jean flushed lightly. “Where is it? What for?”

"It's at a used bookstore. One of my friends owns it and just so happens to need a cashier."

"Why are you helping me?!" Jean burst out unexpectedly. "I break into your house by accident, hurt myself, eat your food, and your response is to give me a job?"

"Do you not want it?" Marco had not looked up from his papers once during Jean's little outburst.

“But- why-” Jean stuttered, stunned by the man's nonchalance.

He sighed and looked Jean straight in the eyes, brown clashing on amber. “Because I know you.” Marco said sternly. “If I don’t make you accept my help, you won’t let anyone help you. Am I wrong?” Jean’s silence answered him.

“Bathroom’s the first door on the right upstairs.” Marco went back to scribbling.

"... I don't have an address."

“Use this one for the paperwork.” Marco didn’t even blink. “Use another when you get your own place. It’s not that hard.”

Jean stood aghast for a moment, then slunk toward the stairs. As unfair it was to follow his instructions, he was right. He hadn’t had a shower with hot water in way too long, and hadn’t held down a job for much longer. He ascended the stairs lightly, like he might break this fragile truce he had with his ex-boyfriend.The upstairs hallway was as narrow as the rest of the house, with four doors. Jean opened the first door on the right as instructed, begrudgingly giving in to Marco’s help.

The inside of the bathroom made it painfully obvious that there was a child living here. There was a stool in front of the toilet with dinosaurs dancing on it. A small ladder was in front of the sink so Krista could reach it. A cup rested on it with one long purple toothbrush and another short one with a batman head. Various toy dinosaurs, ponies, and G.I. Joe dolls lay in a basket next to the shower, with a few more lay forgotten in the tub. The shelves had shampoos and soaps with cartoon characters, with a small corner occupied with Old Spice and Pantine. Jean stepped on the bathmat shaped like a fish and peaked in to look at the shower, seeing only a discarded pink T-Rex and a shower curtain with a map of the world on it. He nudged the door closed gently, swaying one tiny purple bathrobe and a larger blue one hanging on the back of it.

The hot water made Jean moan right off the bat. Dying right here would leave him with zero regrets. He watched as caked on dirt slid off of him and to the shower floor without provocation, both satisfying him and grossing him out. He didn’t even want to think about how nasty his hair must be right now, if the dirt was any indication. Even with all the toys watching, Jean was able to clean himself for the first time in weeks.

When the shower went off, he allowed himself to soak in the steam for a minute or two. He jumped nearly a mile when there was a soft knock on the door, followed by footsteps descending the stairs. After waiting for a full two minutes, Jean edged the door open a crack.

There was a pile of folded clothes in front of the door. It looked like jeans and a dark polo, with a packaged pair of underwear on top. There were also socks, a two-pack of razors and a packaged toothbrush with a Savers sticker still on it. Feeling more embarrassed by the second, Jean scooped them up and closed the bathroom door before all the steam escaped.

Upon looking in the bathroom mirror Jean was suddenly thankful he had a razor. The beard currently inhabiting his chin was patchy and unkempt, generally making him look like a heroine addict. Though honestly, the description wasn't all that far fetched. But never mind that. After ridding himself of it he felt like a new man. His hair was still longish and split ends sprouted out everywhere, but at least he looked clean. The clothes Marco brought actually fit. Either he was very good at eyeballing or he remembered Jean's pants size. A little flame of hope flared in Jean's chest. Perhaps Marco hadn't learned yet how to hold a grudge. Feeling flushed with hope, he stepped out into the house.

The door across the hall was open still. Inside the walls were light green, with a white metal bed frame and a Spiderman comforter in view. That must be Krista's room. Unable to resist he peeked inside. It was cluttered, filled with different toys and clothes strewn about. As angelic as the little girl looked, she clearly had no concept of how to clean. Various hats littered doorknobs, the back of her desk chair, and the end of her bed. Her desk was covered in schoolwork, from worksheets on addition to a book of short stories. Sitting on the desk was a framed photo of a woman looking at the Grand Canyon. That must have been Krista's mother. Biting his lip Jean entered the room and moved closer to the photograph. It felt wrong to intrude on a little girl's room, but his curiosity was gnawing at him.

The picture was in a silver wire frame with "Mother" spelled out on the bottom. The woman looked familiar and similar to Krista; she had light skin that looked like it was being burnt in the Arizona sun and luminous blue eyes. Unlike her daughter she had the darkest black hair arranged into two loose pigtails. Her face was ringing a bell, but Jean just couldn't remember her clearly...

"She's messy isn't she." Jean spun quickly, setting the picture down before Marco saw what he was holding. Marco had a laundry basket balanced on his hip, with Jean's filthy pants and sweatshirt sitting in it. He was picking up Krista's dirty clothes, a population that made up a significant portion of the room. "Is it ok if I wash these?" He asked, indicating the clothes that looked like they'd been fished out of the garbage.

"You don't have to." Jean’s eyes stayed fixed on the clothes and not the man fishing socks and dirty tights off the floor.

“It’s alright, they look like crap.” Marco straightened, and pulled something off of the top of the basket. It was Jean’s wallet. “Here.”

Jean snatched it quickly. “Thanks.” His whole life was currently living in there, and he was afraid of having being separated from it for so long. Marco only raised an eyebrow before digging into his own pocket.

“Here’s the address of the place. It’s only a couple blocks away.” He handed Jean a business card with some scribbled words on the back- _Jean, application, @2, can start working if favorable._ “You remember Reiner, right?”

Jean scowled at his recollection of the man. “The German teacher with a stick shoved all the way up his-”

“Yes, him. Well he runs that place now because the school dropped German.” Marco finished picking up the discarded shirts and pants. “Better get going.” Jean watched him leave the room with the laundry, thinking of what to say. He turned and looked at the photo of Krista’s mother, shut his mouth, and followed Marco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured out some plot things the other night so now I'm happier about my direction. Hooray for a longer chapter!  
> Round and round my procrastination goes, when the update is, nobody knows.  
> I realized that most of this will be Jean's POV, with some chapters from Marco's POV. Sorry.


	4. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Reiner is the nerd I always knew he could be.  
> (I think about Reiner a lot.)

It occurred to Jean as he was walking to the bookstore that now would be a fantastic time to leave. After all, he had showered, gotten new clothes, slept in a warm house and filled his stomach all in the past twenty four hours. He didn’t have to pay for any of it either. It would be extremely easy to just walk off and disappear back out of Marco’s life, never to bother him again. All he would have to do is walk away. 

But his feet would only move in the direction of the store. Jean couldn’t figure out why. He had left people before, after all, even after mooching for a couple of days. There were a few places he could go, like Connie’s … Then again, if he didn’t show up for this dumb interview, it would reflect badly on Marco, he reasoned. Jean didn’t know what Marco had to do to get this for him. And if it didn’t suck too hard maybe he could hang around for a few days, make some cash, then blow town. Yes, that’s what he would do. Just stick around for some easy money then leave. After what he'd recently put Marco through, he owed him this. He pushed open the door of The Spyglass Bookstore, vowing to leave in a few days.

The door jingled lightly, and a wave of warmth hit him. It made him realize how hard the wind outside was blowing. There were books everywhere. Scattered on the counter, stacked on the floor, crammed into shelves and balancing between things. There was a glass case with a register on it, holding meticulously placed books. They were older, and likely more valuable. A heater was placed above the door, blasting warmer air at whoever walked in. Though slightly claustrophobic, it was cozy. Jean stared at the walls by the door, which had a display of book covers. Some were in German, but most were in English. A copy of Alice in Wonderland stood in the center.

“M’coming.” A voice grunted from behind a few rows

“It’s Jean.” Jean responded, still looking at the drawing of Alice sitting at the mad tea party.

“Yeah, yeah.” A man who seemed impossibly large lumbered out from between the shelves. It seemed to be a miracle he didn’t knock any over with his broad shoulders. The ex-teacher was just as Jean remembered him- blond, grumpy, beefy. It looked sort of strange to just see him in a t-shirt and not the sweater-buttoned shirt combinations he wore while he was teaching. Though he looked more casual, his face was still stoney and authoritative. “Good to see you.”

“You too.” Having only ever had the teacher for study hall, their relationship was hardly anything to remember. There was probably nothing on earth that would make this any less awkward. Jean silently halved the amount of time he planned on staying.

Reiner slid behind the counter and pulled out a piece of paper. “Fill this out. I don’t really care if you use your real info or not, I’m just making you do one so they can’t sue me.”

“Okay.” Jean looked at the paper briefly.

“You can read, right?” Reiner asked, leaning boredly on his arm.

Jean bit back an ‘Of course I can read you fucking jackass I graduated before you left’ and simply nodded instead, filling out the information. He put down Marco’s address.

Reiner glanced at it, then slid it in a drawer. “Ok, interview time. Somebody tries to steal from here. What do you do?”  
“Call the cops.”

Reiner held up an X with his arms and made a beeping noise. “Wrong. If they’re a kid who’s not a little shitbag you let them take it. Anything else, then you call the cops. Got it?”

Jean nodded again.

“If somebody damages a book, what do you do?” Reiner asked.

“Kick them out.”

“Ding ding. And if you ever see their sorry face around here you call me.”

“Got it.”

“Last one- somebody comes in here asking for a recommendation, what do you do?”

“Uh, give them one?”

“Correct. What would you recommend them?” The last question was more of an inquiry rather than a demand.

“Um, I haven’t read all that much…” Jean rubbed his fingers together, slightly embarrassed.

“Come on. You’ve read something.” Reiner prompted.

“Uh... _'On the Corner of Bitter and Sweet'._ ”

Reiner raised an eyebrow, causing Jean to dread that he had picked something dumb. But much to his surprise, Reiner’s mouth turned up into an almost smile.

“Good choice. But if you’re ever caught off guard I keep some good ones right across from the register.” Reiner pointed to the books on display, next to the copy of Alice in Wonderland.

Reiner spent the next hour showing Jean the store. It wasn’t very big, but there were so many books that the scale of the building was completely thrown by it. He was shown where the fiction and non-fiction were housed, then the subdivisions of each- fantasy, science fiction, realistic, young adult, historical fiction, history, biography, self help, how-tos, even a few cookbooks. Each section was actually far more organized than Jean had given credit for.

“...and if a customer ever speaks German at you just call me.” Reiner returned them both behind the counter, and started scribbling some things on a sticky note.

“So you want me to start now?” Jean leaned on the counter.

“If you can stay ‘til seven. That’s usually when I close, except weekends I’ll close at nine or ten.”

“When do you open?” Jean wondered, eyes glancing at the titles on the wall.

“Six.”

“Six? What the fuck? Who’s awake at six?!”

“I said that’s when I opened, not when the lunch rush was.” Reiner snorted. He stuck the note on the display screen. “Here’s how to do a sale. The first number is to unlock the machine, the second is to open the drawer. Don’t get it wrong or it will lock the whole thing for a day. Then I’ll beat your ass.”

Jean put up his hands defensively. “Wait, you’re letting me touch the money?”

“Yeah, why not?” Reiner opened a drawer and pulled out a ring of keys. “I’ve got shipment to move in, so somebody needs to be in here.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll take it?” Jean leaned against the counter to get out of his way.

“Are you going to?” Reiner used his six-inch height advantage to leer over Jean.

“Nope!” Jean’s voice cracked a little.

Reiner unleashed a booming laugh. “Then no.” He whistled and walked to the back door swinging the keys.

Jean sighed and pulled up the stool behind the counter. The computer claimed it was 3:30 pm. It was going to be a long three hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE NIGHT I AM ON FIIIIIIIIIRE  
> This was actually really fun once I sat down and thought about how I wanted this to go.  
> Maybe some Bert later on when things cool down a bit between our doe-eyed lovers


	5. Jean

The store wasn’t terribly busy. Jean made a few sales that night, with Reiner sticking close by despite his earlier careless temperament. Most of the people didn’t talk to Jean much and the hours ticked by agonizingly until Reiner made him shelve boxes of books. The seemingly boring task was just that until Jean began reading the summaries hidden on the back covers and inside jackets. Something was fascinating about watching somebody’s life’s work wizz bye him and on to the shelf; an entire lifetime, and the lives of others collected into six hundred pages or less. It made him feel very small.

"Your maid is here." Reiner called from the counter.

"What?" Jean snapped out of reading the back of The Things They Carried.

"That's Marco's car." Reiner jotted down the hours on another sticky note. "Come in around nine tomorrow."

"Right." Jean stepped down from the ladder he was standing on. The bell rang as he stepped back out into the dark street.

Marco sat in the drivers seat, looking in the mirror and smiling. Krista was strapped into a booster seat in the back, talking animatedly with another girl sitting next to her. Jean opened the door and slid into the passengers side.

"-so I got to hold the gerbil today during recess! Miss Braus and I were feeding her carrots and we laid them all in a line across the floor and she walked all the way around the table until her cheeks were full-" Krista puffed her cheeks to demonstrate "-and then she crawled back to the cage so we had to let her back in." It appeared this was her first time breathing in some time, because she took a deep breath as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

The other girl was not in a booster seat. She was tall enough that her feet almost touched the ground in front of her. She wore a cream colored long sleeve shirt and green corduroys. Her face was brushed with freckles and her brown hair was slung back in a loose brown ponytail. She must have been a little older than Krista.

"That's really cute!" She grinned wide, exposing a gap in her teeth. Marco pulled out from the street as Jean buckled in.

"We're voting on a name for her tomorrow! I want to name her Peaches." The smaller girl leaned on the armrest of her booster seat. "Because she's so soft!"

The bigger girl licked her lips. "I wonder if she tastes like peaches."

Krista slapped her hands over her mouth. "Why would you eat a gerbil?!"

"You see, when you name a gerbil, it becomes the thing you named it on the inside. So outside it's still a gerbil but on the inside-" she smacked her lips "-sweet fruit salad."

"Ohhhhhhh." Krista nodded earnestly. "So she would taste like peaches if we named her Peaches?"

"Exactly. When I had Miss Braus I wanted to name our gerbil pizza. But he had black fur so nobody wanted to name him pizza.” The other girl shook her head slowly. “They all wanted to name him Pickle.”

“A boy in my class wanted to name him pickle! But I hate pickles so I don’t want that name.” Krista stuck out her tongue in disgust.

“So if she tasted like something you liked you’d eat her?” The girl tilted her head almost judgingly.

“What? Nonono-” Krista waved her hands. The other girl made a ‘tsk tsk’ noise and shook her head.

Marco pulled up in front of a house. “Ymir, is your mother home?”

“Yeah, I think she’s sleeping. She’s working early tomorrow.” The girl, Ymir, unbuckled her seatbelt.

Marco looked concerned. “You sure? I don’t see her car…”

“My brother has it.” Ymir shrugged. “Thanks for the ride Mr. Bodt!”

“See you tomorrow Ymir!” Krista waved happily.

“Bye.” She stepped out and grabbed a backpack from the footwell, then traveled to the front door. Jean watched her fiddle with the door handle then step inside. Marco waited until the light flickered on before pulling away.

“Hi Jean!” Krista bounced in her chair. “Did you have good day at work? Did you wrestle Mr. Braun all day? Mr. Braun looks like a wrestler to me so I figured that’s what his job is.” Krista nodded as if this fact was obvious.

“It was long.” Jean answered the mirror, unsure of how to talk to her.

“Are you going back tomorrow?” Marco asked quietly.

“Yeah. At nine.”

“That’s when I have gym class tomorrow morning!” Krista grinned wide.

Marco groaned in response while he parked. “I have to wash your clothes for tomorrow then.”

“Yeah! Can you wash the piggy shirt and my blue shorts? I wanna match Ymir-” Krista unbuckled herself. “-she’s gonna wear her new panda shirt and blue shorts!”

“Ok baby.” Marco got out of the car, and opened the door for his daughter. She wiggled out of the seat and grabbed her backpack. “I’ll make sure to do that.” His voice was worn and it looked like his feet were starting to drag. Krista bounced up to the door and balanced on her tiptoes to unlock the door.

Jean followed them both to the door, feeling ever more like he was intruding on their private happiness. Just a few days of work then he could leave. A week tops. Maybe he could snag a new jacket from them. And some socks- he always was wearing crappy socks. His feet were just starting to heal from the many months he’d spent with footwear hardly distinguishable from swiss cheese. But until then he could count on free food and a lumpy couch.

Krista ran in the door and plopped on the stairs, then began to work on untying her shoes. Jean closed the door after him, suddenly completely at a loss for what to do. Since waking up this morning he had been kept completely busy- now his immobile self suddenly shifted back into the awkwardness he remembered about being seventeen. He watched Marco disappear up the stairs, presumably to do laundry; that left him with the little blonde girl he knew nothing about.

Krista shed her sunhat and raincoat on to a hook, then walked right up to Jean. Her blue orbs pierced right into his own amber spheres.

“How good is your spelling?” She was all business.

“Um, pretty good.” Jean was suddenly nervous about the kindergartener’s interest in his linguistic skill.

“Oh good.” She seemed extremely relieved. “Ymir is awful and wouldn’t help me study for my test tomorrow, and daddy’s too tired. You can help me.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the kitchen table. “You sit there, I’ll get my list.”

Jean sat where he was instructed to. This six year old had a weird sense of trust, that was for sure. She set her Wonder Woman backpack on the table and pulled out a Power Rangers folder. Inside was a list of vocabulary words, printed on one side with a definition, then hand written in shaky, blocky letters five times each on the other. Some words had a little drawing next to them.

“You read the word and I’ll spell it, ok?” Krista sat up straighter, as if this was a very serious matter.

“Ok.” Jean answered quietly. He read the first word. “Women.”  
Krista’s face screwed in concentration. “W-I-M-E-N.”

Jean shook his head. “Try again. Wo-men.” He emphasized the “o” sound a bit more.

“Oh! W-O-M-E-N!”

Jean nodded. “Right.”

“Yay!” Krista clapped. “Now put a sticker next to the word.” She pushed a sheet of golden star stickers toward him. “Uh, please.” She added, as if a little Marco on her shoulder was reminding her.

Feeling particularly ridiculous, he pulled a star off the sheet and slid it next to the word. He glanced at her for approval.

“Now the next one.” Krista straightened again, as if preparing for battle.

“Little.”

“L-I-T-T-L-E.”

“Good.” Jean added another sticker. “Lunch.”

“L-U-N…” Krista paused for a long while. She bit her lip sheepishly. “I don’t remember.”

“Next is C.” Jean smiled a little, trying to encourage her.

“L-U-N-C…” She frowned, then tried sounding it out. “Lunch. L-uh-n-chhh. Is it H?”

“Good job.” Jean gave her another sticker. “You’re pretty good for a six year old.”

“I’m six and a half, thank you.” She nodded as if this should have been a well known fact. Jean heard Marco descending the stairs.  

“Krista, you need to take a bath.”

“But daddy! Jean is helping me study! We’re almost done, I just did three words!” Krista batted her eyelashes at him; there was no possible way she was unaware of how powerfully cute she was. Marco sighed.

“Alright. But you better finish soon, I’m going to fill the tub.” He slipped back up the stairs. Krista grinned and looked back at Jean.

“Next word please.”

Jean continued down the list. His earlier statement rang true- for a kid, she was a pretty good speller. Silent e’s and double letters did nothing to trip her up. Her sheet was very soon filled with golden stars on every line.

“Yes! I got them all.” She took the sheet and stuffed it back in her folder, then back in her bag. Marco thumped back down the stairs. “Daddy! I got them all!” She ran up to him and hugged his leg.

Marco lifted her up and balanced her on his hip, prompting a screech of laughter from the little blonde. “That’s great baby. What do you say to Jean?”

“Thank youuu!” Krista waved at him while Marco carried her upstairs, giggling all the way.

Jean sat with his conflicted mind for a while, hearing Krista shrieking and splashing above him. He should have left this morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh sorry again for the wait. The next chapter will probably be Marco's POV. Finally have had some time to think about continuing the plot and I think I'm in a good place now.   
> Anyway enjoy!


	6. Marco

Marco sighed and slipped the glasses off of his face. It was almost six thirty, and he should probably wake Krista soon. She had really been warming up to Jean recently, only proving that she was his daughter. Of all the people in the world that she had to be so friendly with, why did it have to be Jean-motherfucking-Kirstien. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He would go to the ends of the earth and back for her, but where in the hell did he put down that he was ready to face his ex-boyfriend from high school. Eight peaceful years without him had eased the pain, but nothing had dissolved it.

_The music was pounding throughout the house. Connie’s basement was filled with a thin haze of smoke, emitting from several joints and a hookah in the center of the room. Jean’s leg was slung over his own when he slipped the paper out of Marco’s mouth and into his. The smoke curled from his lips and mingled with his own. Jean smiled and snuffed out the end._

_“Enjoying yourself?” He grinned, playing with that stupid earing Marco had._

_“Mm.” Marco ran his hand up Jean’s hip._

_Jean shifted his weight fully on to Marco’s lap, planting little kisses on to his jaw. He made it all the way to his ear before whispering “Let’s take this upstairs.”_

_“Not right now.” Marco turned his chin away._

_“Why not?” Jean scowled his usual scowl._

_“I don’t feel like it, ok?” Marco pushed him off his lap. “I just have a bunch on my mind.”_

_“Who cares about that? C’mon…” Jean slid his hand up Marco’s chest until he slapped it away._

_“Just fuck off ok?” Marco stood up and headed for the door. The world floated around him, causing him to grab the doorframe._

_“What’s your problem?” Jean followed him, unfazed. “You’ve been fucking weird all day.”_

_Marco groaned. “Jean, I don’t want to fucking do this right now.” His stomach was completely empty and he wanted to lie down so badly._

_“No, what’s with you? I was looking forward to fucking now that graduation’s over with and you stopped being all stressed and shit-”_

_“I don’t want to fuck Jean!” Marco yelled, startling the rest of the room into silence. Jean’s face burned._

_“Fine, fine, whatever, I get it.” He responded hushedly. “But why? You used to want to all the time.”_

_Marco leaned heavily on the doorway, nausea setting in. “Jean I’m thinking about my future and schools and crap, I just need to figure this out before the fall. And I don’t feel like doing it all the time.”_

_“I could relieve some stress.” Jean purred, advancing toward him. Marco pushed him before he got too close._

_“No, no you couldn’t. All you do is fucking stress me out. Constantly. And you never fucking realize it, you ass. I’m always trying to think about what I’m gonna do with my life and all you want to do is bone! You never leave me alone.”_

_“Yeah, because you matter to me!” Jean went redder. “That’s why I want to be with you all the time-”_

_“If I fucking matter to you then why do you keep badgering me?!” Marco shouted again. The room had been dead silent for a few minutes now. Jean looked shocked._

_“I don’t want to do this anymore.”_

“Daddy?”

Marco started from his daydream at the sound of Krista’s voice. She had opened the door a crack, letting the light from the hallway shine into his darkroom. He slid his glasses back on and stood quickly to meet her. “What is it baby?”

She was clutching her elbows while she hunched slightly. Her face was patched with red, and tears filled her eyes. “Everythin’ hurts.”

Marco picked her up gently. “Hey, it’s ok. Shh, don’t cry. It’s just a flare up. You can stay home today, ok?” He rubbed her back and closed the door behind him. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Mhm.” She held his shirt in tiny fists, tears staining his collar.

Downstairs he placed her sitting on the kitchen counter. He ran some hot water on to towels and squeezed them out, then wrapped them around her elbows and knees. “How did you feel all yesterday?”

“I felt ok but I didn’t feel like going outside so I stayed inside with Miss Braus.” Krista wiped her eyes on her arm. Marco began massaging her legs and arms with a sigh.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were really tired and I didn’t-” she sniffed, “-and I didn’t want you to worry about me-”

“Shh, it’s ok. I didn’t notice, it’s my fault.” He wrapped his arms around her and cradled her.

“I’m sorry-” She sobbed.

“Don’t be sorry Krista.” Marco smoothed her hair gently. She cried for a while, then calmed slowly as the heat began to ease her pain. “Do you want to stay upstairs or downstairs? I don’t want you moving too much. And I have client to go see today…”

“I’ll stay down here. Jean doesn’t look happy either.” Krista pointed at the couch.

Jean was a little more than unhappy. He was drenched in sweat. Despite the perspiration, his entire body quaked with shivers, confining him to the fetal position. He groaned softly when Marco approached.

“Ngh” was about all he could muster in his current state. Marco sighed again. So two thirds of the house was out of commission for the day.

“Alright. You’ll take care of him, right?” Marco lifted her down from the counter.

“Right!” Krista smiled weakly.

Marco knelt by Jean’s head and shook him gently. Jean’s lid cracked open slightly, revealing a red, veiny eye. “What.” He growled.

“I’ll call Reiner. Look after Krista, ok?” Marco took another towel and placed it on Jean’s forehead.

“Fuck.” He curled up up tighter. Krista climbed up on the couch next to him, holding her towels to her.

“Watch your mouth.” Marco wrapped Krista up in a blanket by Jean’s feet. Krista was dozing off already, her head slumped on the arm of the couch. Marco kissed her forehead gently. “I’ll be back soon baby.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jean’s gaze. It was filled with something he could not quite place, but was familiar to him. Something stirred in the back of his mind.

“Good luck with your client daddy.” Krista mumbled, distracting him from the thought he was groping for.

“Thank you baby.” He tucked her in gently, then stood.

“Yeah, good luck.” Jean mumbled.

Trying not to appear stunned, Marco replied “Thanks” then disappeared back to the darkroom. A stack of papers and thick photograph paper. The thought was tugging at his subconscious, but he ignored it while he scooped up his portfolio.

As he slipped out the door, the thought of his begrudging resemblance of a spark with Jean floated between reminders to call the school and the bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy to finally slip back to Marco. Unfortunately I think most of the telling fits Jean's perspective much better, so most of this will be from his POV.  
> Oh well.


	7. Jean

If he felt awful the first night, the second was far, far worse. Jean woke to a unmemorable nightmare drowning in sweat, with the overwhelming urge to throw up. He managed to slither to the bathroom to do just that, and had to crawl to the kitchen to get something liquid in his system. The milk he drank made him only want to heave again, but he kept it down. After spending half the night on the cool kitchen tile, Jean ambled back to the couch to engage in an unsuccessful attempt to rest. His head was pounding, his chest shaking, and his throat could not be drier. Pain was tingling through his whole being. So far he was having a pretty bad day.

He heard Marco come down stairs shushing quietly, presumably to Krista. Jean’s fought to open his eyes, causing them to burn and water.

Krista sat on the counter crying very quietly while Marco was rubbing her knee. Every so often he would hush her and wipe her face, then he wrapped her up in some towels. Jean watched him cradle her, a feeling he could only think of as jealously pulsing through him. That, and nausea. He must be detoxing.

Marco turned with Krista in his arms, forcing Jean to clamp his eyes shut quickly. He heard footsteps approach him, and he quietly moaned at the light now streaming in from the kitchen. He felt the other side of the couch depress slightly with Krista’s weight.

“Alright. You’ll take good care of him, right?” He bundled her up with a blanket.

“Right!” came her weak reply.

Jean felt Marco shake his shoulder with a softness he’d quite forgotten. He cracked his eye open. “What.” The word came out rough and growly due to his dry throat.

“I’ll call Reiner. Look after Krista, ok?” He watched Marco put a towel on his face, warmed with hot water.

“Fuck.” Jean said, more to himself than to Marco.

“Watch your mouth.” Marco watched him tuck Krista in, then kiss her forehead. He was filled with a silent longing, one that had been covered in cobwebs for years. He closed his eyes, all visual sense now increasing his headache.

“Good luck with your client daddy.” Krista yawned, tucking her feet under Jean’s blanket.

“Thank you baby.” Marco answered her.

“Yeah, good luck.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before Jean could really stop them. In this state of mind, Jean decided he didn’t care. After a pause he heard Marco’s “Thanks” then him thumping up the stairs.

The pair were asleep in moments.

 

_“... the high will be 65*, with mild showers through the evening…”_

_Lady, you need to shut the fuck up._ Jean pried his eyes open. Marco must have turned on the TV before leaving to help Krista sleep. Krista; She was on the other end of the couch.

...or not. She was missing from her perch by his feet. Jean sat up, immediately filled with panic. If Krista was missing, Marco would murder him without hesitation. He stood quickly and fell just as quickly. Vertigo overcame him quickly.

“Krista!” He yelped.

“M’here.” Krista was sitting on the stairs, sliding down them carefully.

“Oh good.” He mumbled, facing the ceiling.

“Can we watch a movie?” She had made it to the bottom stair, wrapped up in her blanket still.

“Sure.” Jean couldn’t make himself get up, since the ceiling would not stop turning different colors.

“Which one should we watch?” Krista scooted over to the television, looking at the stacks of movies.

“It’s up to you kiddo.” Jean was fighting off more nausea.

“Hmm…” She ran her tiny fingers over the titles. “Muppets?”

“Sounds awesome.” Jean crawled back the couch. She pushed the dvd into the tray and scooted back to the couch. When she got there she put both her arms up, like Jean was about to pick her up. He stared for maybe a bit too long before taking the hint and lifting her on to the cushion next to him. The action sent his head spinning again. He needed to talk or the vertigo would dissolve in to vomiting again. “So what’s wrong with you kid?”

“Daddy say’s it’s a flare up. It’ll go away soon. It makes my knees and my shoulders and my elbows and my feet and my hands and my back hurt all over and my skin gets all red and hurts a bunch.” Krista explained, watching the copyright warning shift on to screen.

“I see.” Jean focused on her words to hold down the contents of his stomach.

“Doctor Mike says I have Lupus.” Jean’s stomach dropped for another reason. Krista shrugged. “I don’t really know what that means but I have to wear hats and sunscreen and take my medicine. And sometimes it’s like this.”

Jean looked at the tiny girl, with her huge blue eyes and patchy red skin. Her pain was evident in the way she was bent forward, the pale parts of her face sweating. Even with her troubles a smile stretched across her whole face; a smile aimed at him. Jean looked back at the screen. “You’re a strong kid.”

“You think so?” Krista grinned ear to ear.

“Yeah… I mean this isn’t a great situation but you’ve got a million-dollar smile to go with it.” Jean closed his eyes. “And your daddy loves you more than anything.”

“He loves you too!” Krista grinned at him.

At once it felt like all the air had been smashed out of his lungs by a freight train. He had come to disassociate “love” and “Marco” so strongly that thinking anything otherwise was mind boggling. But of course, this little girl had blown all of that out of the water. Years of avoiding thoughts, mentions, and company with Marco cascaded on him like an avalanche. His heartbeat sped up tenfold; his hands shook with panic.

Marco couldn’t love him- their last encounter ten years ago had made that very clear.

Marco didn’t love him.

Marco never loved him.

Marco was a liar.

Marco didn’t love him.

Marco _hated_ him.

Marco never wanted to see him again.

“J-Jean?” Krista sobbed, her hands on his shoulder, balancing herself on the couch cushion she was standing on. Jean suddenly was very aware of his hyperventilation and the tears dragging down his face. Krista shook him slightly. “J-Jean, are you o-ok?”

Krista too was crying, probably disturbed by the immense panic attack Jean just experienced. “I’m s-sorry…” A sob escaped her.

“N-No, it’s ok.” Jean exhaled. “It’s not your fault.” _It’s cause I’m just really fucked up, I swear,_ he added mentally.

She sank back into her seat, crying quietly to herself. Unsure of what to do, Jean resorted to patting her hair. After a while her tears turned into occasional sniffs, and wiping off her eyes. He stared out the window, leaning on his hand. “Uh, words and kids are two things I’m kind of bad at, but, uh, it’s not your fault. I know you’re just trying to help. So… don’t worry about it.”

Krista bit her lip, her big blue eyes fixed on the menu screen dancing across the TV. “I just feel like I make things worse… for daddy, for you…”

“Hey, didn’t you hear me?” Jean faced her again, his words harsher than intended. She looked back, a little surprised. “I told you, your dad loves you more than anything. That’s pretty obvious.” He huffed, feigning annoyance. “I pegged you to be smarter than that.”

The little girl smiled again and sniffed. “I’m pretty smart.”

“Damn right. Oops.” Jean covered his mouth, remembering Marco’s admonishment to watch his mouth.

Krista laughed. “I won’t tell daddy.”

“Thank god. Nobody likes a tattletale.” Jean huffed again, and wrapped himself in his blanket tighter. “Are we gonna freakin watch this thing or what? I haven’t seen a muppet since I was eleven.”

Krista re-bundled herself, and leaned against Jean’s arm. “So back when dinosaurs roamed the earth?”

Jean blushed a bit. “Just press play will you?”

The little girl obliged with a fit of giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is coming more steadily than I thought. Very happy with the progression so far.


	8. Marco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco thinks about cats, wives, and noodles.

_Old women and their fucking cats_  Marco steamed, slipping back into his car. He’d just spent a good two hours with his last client, an aged woman with a love for her six persians and for candles that smelled like the fifties. She had insisted that everyone would want to see her “darlings” in a million different costumes, posed like elves and Santa and all of the reindeer, not to mention the snowmen and even a stupid looking christmas tree. “All of my friends will be so impressed with these cuties. You simply must capture each of their personalities in your photographs Mr. Bodt!” she had mentioned, knitting her troll-like fingernails through one cat’s fur. If this woman wasn’t paying him so much to take pictures of her cats for her christmas cards, he would have kicked her by now.

He sighed and leaned back against the seat, rubbing his eyes. He hated leaving Krista while she was having a one of her flare ups, but as a freelancer he had no room to turn down clients. All he wanted to do was gun it back home and hold her. But in being her only supporter, he had to take care of business before he could put her food on the table. With another deep sigh he turned his car on and hiked his way home.

Since the death of his wife, Mina, making ends meet had become increasingly difficult. If it wasn't for his good partnerships with the locals there was no way he would have been able to pull Krista and himself this far. Thanks to the consistent offers to be the school photographer, newspaper man and private picture developer he could keep afloat. That was, if he ignored the desire to sleep and eat full meals. But it meant constantly developing, meeting picky clients, and working all hours. All time he couldn’t spend with Krista. The problem circulated with no end in sight. A wave of sadness hit him; even after nine years without Mina, he was still struggling without her. She always knew what to do; she worked hard so Marco could establish himself in something he loved.

Some wounds simply never heal; this was one of them.

It was raining again by the time he got home. All the lights were dark, and Marco nearly tripped over the folded box on the step. He scooped it up without thought and brought it into the house. The only light was flashing in the living room, originating from the television. A quiet Powerpuff Girls marathon was ensuing, entertaining two sleeping figures. Marco inched over to see his daughter leaning her back on Jean’s arm, the pair of them snoring up a storm. Marco shook his head, then flicked on the kitchen light to make them something to eat.

Marco stirred a pot of pasta before examining the box that had laid on the step. Inside was a plate filled with muffins and a few sheets of homework, stuck with two sticky notes. The first had carefully looped cursive:

_Krista-_   
_Here’s your homework from today. Please give it to me by Friday if you can. Hope to see you tomorrow!_   
_-Miss Braus_

The second had much scrawlier handwriting:  
 _Feel better soon._  
 _-Ymir_

The muffins were set on the counter, and the papers by Krista’s backpack. Slowly he crept into the living room and shook Krista gently.

“Nn. One more episode.” Krista curled up tighter.

“Krista? Time to get up.” Marco untucked her head from the blanket.

She cracked an eyelid open. “Daddyy…” She reached through her blanket and hugged his neck. He scooped her up blanket and all. “How was your meeting?”

“Boring.” Marco sighed honestly, setting his daughter on a kitchen chair.

“What are you taking pictures of?” Krista rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Cats.” He went back to the pot and stirred, then started working on some alfredo sauce.

“Sounds boring as hell.” Jean slumped in, wrapped in his blanket. He slipped into the chair next to Krista’s. She met his statement with a gasp.

“Jean! Shh! You’ll get in trouble!” She stared fearfully at Marco, as if he was about to scold Jean.

“You’re right- actually what I said was ‘Sounds really boring.’ Right?” Jean humoured her.

Krista nodded feverishly. “Right!”

“How are you two feeling?” Marco moved his gaze from Krista sipping juice to Jean’s ragged eyes. They slid to meet him for a few moments, seeming relaxed for the first time in years.

“Real good! I can’t wait to go to school tomorrow- I hope the guinea pig is named Peaches…” This being her only concern, she returned to her juice.

“I’m alright.” Jean followed curtly, breaking his staring contest with Marco.

“Good. Ymir brought you your homework and some treats.” He spooned some noodles into a bowl for her, without acknowledging Jean.

“Oo, are they muffins?! Yesterday she said she was going to bake some- can I have one daddy?” Krista bit her lip hopefully.

“Save it for breakfast baby.” Marco set food on the table for himself and Jean, then took his place next to Krista. “You don’t want to overdo it.”

“Ok…” She sighed and dug in to her noodles.

It was a peaceful meal. Silence surrounded the trio, aside from the odd comment from Krista about what they watched that day and her plans for being back in school tomorrow. It was not a suffocating silence, but a warm one filled with the scents of warm food and tired people. It was like the feeling of taking off your shoes after a very, very long day.

Krista had been drooping into her pasta every few minutes, but Marco decided to put her to bed after a quiet snore came from her. He coaxed the fork from her hand, wiped her mouth gently, then picked her up gently. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time.” Jean leaned his head back on the chair.

It didn’t take very long to get Krista into her nightdress and under the covers. She snuggled up with a stuffed giraffe and was out before Marco even made it to the doorway. He leaned on the frame, looking at her tired form.

She was his world. Everything he did was to make her happy and give her a better life. She was in constant pain; there was nothing he could do about that. There were many instances where she could have died as a child, but his tough little blonde had fought it all with a smile.

God he loved her so much.

His thoughts stayed in her bedroom while his feet descended the staircase. Upon seeing Jean they snapped back so fast he felt the air leave his lungs. Wait, maybe that was just a gasp.

Jean sat with his chin in one delicate hand, staring off into space. He had compiled all the dishes into the sink, and now absentmindedly swiped at the condensation on his glass. His eyebrows knit together perfectly, despite the bags under his eyes. His stupidly long lashes were half lowered in thought; any other person would have thought he was angry, or moody perhaps. Marco knew better. This was a Jean who was digesting a large thought, bit by bit. He also, while sitting in her old seat, resembled what Mina had looked like in times of thought.

That caught Marco off guard enough that he turned on the staircase so Jean wouldn’t see his face. Hearing this Jean raised his head, erasing the expression.

“Do you need anything before I go upstairs?” Marco asked, eyes trained at the top step.

“No, I’m good.” Jean’s voice lacked its usual harshness.

“Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.”

Marco stumped up the stairs quickly before he could envision Mina with that exact look years and years before Jean had stumbled on his doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The romantic tension has reached the level of waiting for your food at McDonalds, I'm so happy.  
> Ugh this slow build is killing me inside.  
> Enjoy anyway.


	9. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bert is a nerd, Reiner is also a nerd.

A few days came; a few days went. Customers were regular on the weekend, but the weekday hours seemed to just drag by. As for Jean, life was quiet for once. He had reached a rare state in his life where, though he was perfectly aware that nothing is solved and that obstacles lay ahead, the world seems so filled with tranquility- if only for these few hours. No sleeping on sidewalks, no midnight hotel meetups, no emptiness in his stomach. Just a tiny shop with lots of books, a twenty minute walk, and a couch. Each day Jean put off his departure just a little longer, arguing that this was a good time to scrape up some cash while he could. Just another day. Just the weekend, that’s when the store was busy after all. One more day, Marco said he was getting pizza. One more night couldn’t hurt.

And so on.

Soon Jean begrudgingly admitted that he liked it all. He liked the squeaky thousand year old stool behind the register and the musty paper smell he worked in; he liked the lumpy green couch and the sidewalk he’d walked every day since his detoxing. It hurt him to know he’d have to leave it. How long would Marco be able to stand seeing Jean every day? He felt pointedly Marco’s almost certain disgust with him. But this somewhat settled lifestyle had hit a chord with him, a harmony he was reluctant to leave behind.

The bell on the door rang, causing Jean to look up from the copy of _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ he was skimming. A man entered from the midday sun, tall and sweaty. His eyes were a deep dark brown, his hair black, and his dark coffee skin dappled with sweat- despite it only being about fifty degrees. He was lanky to say the least; when he walked in his hair brushed the top of the doorframe.

Jean recognized him, seeing as this was the fourth time he’d been in this week. His eyes traveled from the counter to Jean, with a pang of disappointment registering when he got to Jean’s face. Jean sighed.

“Reiner!” He scooped up the book and left the counter. “You’re date’s here.”

He watched Reiner power walk around the corner, then slow down just before emerging from the shelves. “Bertholdt!” He said warmly, then took his place behind the counter.

“Good morning Reiner.” The man spoke very softly, but due to the emptiness of the store Jean was able to eavesdrop.

“What can I do for you?” Reiner asked, unusually pleasant.

“Ah, I’m actually looking for a book of poems by…” Bertholdt answered, and quickly launched into a description of a title. Reiner answered him dreamily, asking about small details to lengthen their conversation.

“I think it’s back here- come look with me.” Reiner moved from the counter to the back shelf. Jean vacated the area quickly. Reiner pointed out similar books, making suggestions in German and opening to sample pages. Bertholdt seemed interested in everything Reiner mentioned, and soon wound up with a stack of books up to his elbows. They meandered back to the front.

“So how’s your thesis coming, Bert?” Reiner asked, cataloging each book.

The other man sighed. “Slow. I have to keep finding new things to read and include in my papers…”

“Aw, am I not good enough?” Reiner teased, slipping the titles into bags.

“N-No!” Bert waved his hands rapidly. “You’ve been very helpful! Finding these, and practicing talking with me-”

“Calm down, I’m just joking.” Reiner grinned, punching a total into the register.

“Oh.” Bertholdt blushed a bit, then pulled out two twenties. Reiner took them and counted out the change.

“Gimme a call if you need help with the translation ok?” He handed over the money.

“Ok. I’ll try calling when you’re open…”

“Ah, here.” Reiner grabbed a business card and scribbled on the back of it. “Just call my cell, I’ll answer it.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” Bert took it and stuffed it into his pocket. “That will be helpful.”  
“Don’t mention it.” Reiner leaned on his elbow with his chin resting in his hand. “Good luck with the dead poet’s society.” He gestured to the books.

“Thanks.” Bert laughed lightly, then exited the store. A sigh escaped Reiner after the bells chimed announcing his departure. And at that, Jean burst out laughing.

“What’s your problem?” Reiner growled, snapping his eyes from the door to the man.

“He-” Jean wheezed, leaning on the shelve to remain upright. “-he has _no idea_ you’re flirting with him, does he?”

“Shut up.” Despite his protest a faint pink rose to his cheeks.

“Oh God he doesn’t?! He’s that dense?” Jean felt tears well up, and his laughter went quickly from whooping to silently slapping the side of the shelf.

“Fuck off, he’s busy gettin’ a PhD!” Reiner turned his back on Jean, blushing furiously.

“He didn’t even notice that _you gave him your goddamn number_!” The words tumbled out of Jean’s mouth between gasps for air.

At that Reiner lost his temper and threw a paperback copy of _The Hobbit_ at Jean’s face. It missed and hit a shelf, toppling a stack behind him. “Don’t you have a job to do? Clean that shit up!”

Jean complied, snickering to himself.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pumped to post this chapter, it's been baking in my head for like three months. Anyway, moving right along. Enjoy.


	10. Marco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco's a daddy's girl.

Marco’s beat up Mercedes had been to every corner of the town. It knew the back roads to get to the school, the quickest way to the highway and how to get around the painfully slow light on South Main. Today it had set itself down in the parking lot of the public library, along with all the other cars bringing their owners to the debate. 

Town elections were coming up, and the local newspaper had insisted that Marco get snapshots of the debates as well as photos of the candidates. Since the absolutely ancient representative, Pixis, had finally retired, there were two completely new candidates running, something the newspaper was sure would sell. In all honestly, Marco would rather be at the park with Krista.

Marco stepped in to the library, a cool musty smell greeting him. The recreational room on the right was set up with chairs and two podiums, and people were beginning to file in. Upon entering, he set up a tripod on one side of the room and took a couple of test shots to align his shots and test the flash. This was very run-of-the-mill work for him, which left his mind room to wander and thinking about Krista.

She was growing up so fast. Not so long ago she had been a tiny blonde bundle, just opening her blue eyes and squirming, so eager to explore and see the world. It seemed impossible that she was now out at school, talking with her friends and eating her lunch without him. She was already so grown up- walking herself home with Ymir and doing her own homework, along with bossing around Jean and himself. For an eight year old she sure had an authority to be reckoned with. Marco smiled vaguely; she was already so much like her mother. A pang of grief struck him, a grief he had felt absent for a long time. He had not thought of Mina for many months, and now he had thought at her twice since Jean had arrived. How strange he resembled her in the strangest ways- they had the same backwards way of cheering him up, and understandingly relaxing him. The way they looked at Krista (at least, when Mina was still alive) was one and the same. And for some completely absurd reason, Krista had latched on to Jean nearly immediately after his arrival. He saw them many times working on homework together, completing assignments from crosswords to addition problems. Another pang of strange jealousy entered his mind, that  he should be the one to help her-

“-very happy to introduce our two candidates for a debate on some issues our town currently faces. On the left is Ms. Mikasa Ackerman, and the right Ms. Annie Leonhardt.” A round of polite applause following the moderator’s announcement, slapping Marco out of his daydream. 

“ Shit-” Marco murmured inaudibly, as he rushed to snap a picture of two women approaching a pair of podiums. One, Ms. Ackerman, was a thin, asian lady with a striking look about her. A red infinity scarf wrapped around her neck and met her short inkblot hair. The other was a muscular, severe-looking woman with a tight blonde bun and a thin, stern mouth. Her eyes almost glazed, she looked interested in no one, as if every person in the room was beneath her. 

“-the first question will be about views on public education, asked by various members of the town-”  Focus. Marco slid his face behind the lense, looking intently at the two women answering questions and speaking. Ms. Ackerman was a soft spoken talker, but every word sounded sure and planned, like a carefully laid out blueprint. Ms. Leonhardt was harsher. She sternly stated many times that her very top priority was serving members of the community in this way or that. Their words were like a swordfight; quick and deadly, each argument a stab at their opponent. Marco would have been very interested if his mind hadn’t been wandering back to Krista every few minutes.

He would give anything in the world to spend more time with her. There was a constant feeling in the very pit of his chest; a fear that one day she would be grown and leaving the house and he would barely know her. She’d have grown up with clothes in her dresser and food in the fridge but with a dad whose voice she barely knew. The more he thought this the scarier it was. 

“-and I feel that there is no reason to spend the taxes of the town, or the state for that matter, on equipment for physical education when that money could be better spent on programs that emphasize better learning and aid for students who require it.” Ms. Ackerman stated, closing her end of a question. 

“What my opponent fails to realize is the core importance of physical health and education for younger students, which has statistically shown improved scores in various subject matter. There would be less need for programs if this area of education is addressed-” Ms. Leonhardt rebuttled, but the words slid right over Marco’s mind while he positioned more shots of the women speaking. More jealousy sprang to mind while he was muddling over the thought of Jean spending time with Krista. She had warmed up to him so quickly. He looked at her in a way that Marco himself couldn’t quite describe. Their quick connection irked him, reminding him of himself in high school. He and Jean had shared a similar connection, one that was almost instantaneous- their attraction began before they'd even said hello. And Krista, being his daughter, had fared the same. Damn that girl, being too much like him. 

The candidates concluded their talks, and answered questions. Marco plucked his camera from the tripod and flipped it to the audience, getting a few quick shots of people standing to ask questions. The moderator then thanked everyone for their participation, and concluded the debate. A hushed burble of conversation drifted about the room as people spoke with both candidates or drifted out of the room. Marco ignored most of it, and began to pack his camera. If he left soon, he might be able to go and catch Krista before she got out of school. 

It wasn’t until he reached the trunk of his Mercedes that he realized the tripod was still patiently sitting inside the room, and he would have to go disassemble it. Hoping it would cooperate with him for once, he swam against the stream of people exiting the library. Inside, Ms. Ackerman was talking to a tall dark-skinned man, who was frantically checking a clipboard. She raised her eyes to connect with Marco, and waved off the man and the clipboard. She strode over to Marco. 

“Are you the photographer?” She asked quietly, hardly an expression crossing her face.

“Yes.” Marco replied, shoving his tripod back into the stand.

“Nice to meet you. Mikasa Ackerman.” She held out her hand for him to shake.

“Marco, Marco Bodt.” 

“Marco.” She said his name like she was testing it in her mouth. “Would you happen to have any film experience?”

“Film?” Marco raised his eyebrows. “Well, I can’t tell you it’s my strongest skill, but I do have a camera.”

“Really.” The man with the clipboard shuffled over again, writing furiously. “Well, here’s our situation. My associate, Eren-” She pointed to the clipboard “-seems to have not budgeted for much marketing for our campaign, and I’m looking to get a commercial on the air before my opponent. So I’m willing to make an offer for less than professional quality, until we can get more funding. If you are interested I’d be happy to bring this project to you.”

“Depends on your numbers.” Marco finished folding the legs, wishing this woman would hurry the hell up.

“Depends on the shoot.” Mikasa replied.

“Well, here’s what we’ll do.” Marco dug into his pocket and produced a card. “Here’s my information. The newspaper has a large selection of my work available for public viewing. Give me a call if you like what you see, then we’ll talk numbers Ms. Ackerman.”

Mikasa took the card and handed it to Eren. “Seems fair.” Her emotionless face twitched into something that looked like admiration. “Mr. Bodt, a pleasure to meet you.” She turned away.

Finally. There was still hope to grab Krista from school. With a sigh, Marco turned back to leave.

And at that moment, an infinitely loud  bang  knocked him to the floor, with the image of Krista still impressed in his mind’s eye as he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this hasn't been a thing in a while, I'm trying to graduate and all that. ANYWAY, enjoy, and cry about it.


	11. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm too tired to be writing this crap

The phone at the store rarely rang. If it did, nine times out of ten it was darling Bertholdt, too nervous or too clueless to call Reiner on his cell phone. This fact merely annoyed Jean but depressed Reiner to no end, causing him to sulk after each conversation ended. This also meant that Reiner was beyond excited every single time the phone rang. Jean practically had to flatten himself against the shelf at the first ring so Reiner could bound to the counter all the way from the back corner. He sighed and returned to shelving, until Reiner called for him.

“What?” He replied, trying to alphabetize on the fly.

“Come up here and get the phone.”

“Huh? Just tell me what it is.” Jean shoved the two books in together, figuring nobody would notice.

“It’s for you shithead, come get it.” Reiner sounded annoyed, maybe at his responses or maybe at the fact that this clearly was not Bert.

“It is?” Jean ambled up from the cart.

“Yeah, hurry up.” Reiner left the phone on the counter.

“Hello?” Jean asked, expecting Marco’s voice.

“Is this Jean Kirstein?” A calm female voice asked.

“Yes.” Jean answered, wondering who she was.

“This is Ms. Hanji from Trost Public Elementary.” Immediately Jean’s heart sunk to his feet with thoughts of Krista. “We’re calling to request that you come as soon as possible to pick up Krista Bodt from class, due to an emergency with her father.”

“Emergency?” His heart was now slowly sinking below the crust of the earth.

“Yes, he’s currently in the hospital after an accident earlier today. He has you put down as the secondary adult to contact in an emergency. Could you give us an estimated-”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Jean interrupted. “I’ll be there soon.” As soon as he could he hung up and stared at the phone.

“Who was it?” Reiner thumped a few books bake on the shelf.

“Reiner.” Jean stayed leaning on the counter, trying not to scream. “We have to go. Right now.”

“What? Fuck off, I’m busy-”

“It’s Marco!” Jean yelled, surprising everyone in the room. “Sorry- Marco, he’s in the hospital and we have to get Krista, we have to go, now-”

“Hold on, I’ll lock up.” Reiner quickly jumped on the register and locked all the drawers, while he made Jean lock up all the doors. His mind was reeling with every scenario with Marco going to the hospital. What did Krista know already? How was he going to tell her? What had actually happened?

“Let’s go.” Reiner grabbed his keys and hurried out the door, followed by Jean. He didn’t ask questions, leaving Jean to his thoughts until they reached the school.

Krista was just inside the door sitting quietly in the office, with her Wonder Woman backpack perched on her lap. Jean went up to the secretary and signed out his name as quickly as possible, then crouched in front of Krista.

“What’s wrong with daddy?” She asked, sliding off of her chair.

“I don’t know.” Worry seeped through his words, as he picked up her backpack. Her lip trembled slightly. Jean took her hand gently. “We’ll go there now and check up on him, ok? It’s ok. I’ll stay with you.”

“Ok.” Krista squeezed tight while they met Reiner back at the car. Without question Reiner drove fifteen miles above the limit. Krista looked like she was holding back tears the entire way, sending pangs of guilt down Jean’s heartstrings.

With the hospital in sight, a new wave of emotion washed over him. He dreaded this building; the clean white walls and the quiet hallways with its shushing nurses and dark rooms. He hated it, no, feared it.

Reiner pulled up to the emergency room door, breaking Jean from his haze. “I’ll be back after hours, I can’t leave the store.” Jean nodded, and took Krista’s hand.

Krista looked up at him as they entered the waiting room. She sat on a chair, while Jean approached a tired looking receptionist.

“Can I help you.” She sighed.

“Hi, uh, we’re here to see Marco Bodt?” He asked, unsure of how one goes about visiting somebody in this prison.

The lady behind the counter jabbed at her keyboard. “Mr. Bodt is in surgery right now, he’ll be there for the next couple of hours.”

That statement alone was enough to make Jean’s voice catch in his throat. _Surgery?_ Something must have been horribly, horribly wrong. He gulped. “Is there, uh, any information on what happened? All I know is that he’s here because of an emergency…”

The receptionist jabbed again, her eyes scanning the page as soon as it loaded. “It appears that the Trost Public Library had a part of the roof collapse, which landed on Mr. Bodt and several others. He came in with severe damage to his chest and a possible spinal injury, as well as miscellaneous injury to his left side.”

“ _Oh god_.” Jean whispered, folding his hands and resting his head on them.

“I’ll be happy to inform you when he is out of surgery.” The receptionist looked away from him and went back to typing, denoting that their business was over. Jean returned next to Krista, and held his head in his hands.

Without a word he and the little blonde sat, with the hushed tones of people talking and muted bustle beyond the waiting room doors. Every so often a siren would cut through the air and fade down the road. Finally Krista tugged his sleeve.

“There was… an accident at the library.” Jean managed to squeeze out, rubbing the back of his head.

“What kinda accident?” She asked, gripping his shirt.

“I guess part of the roof gave out and hit him…” He continued, trying not to say too much.

“Will he be ok?” Her lip trembled slightly, constricting Jean’s heart to the point of heart failure.

“Yeah.” He gulped, trying to breathe normally. “He’ll be fine. He’ll come back to you; he’d be the worst to leave a cute kid like you all alone.”

***

They sat together almost three hours. For the first two neither moved nor spoke, each fully immersed in the absolute worst scenario they could possibly imagine. Finally the waiting room emptied at a snail’s pace, and the urgency of their situation drained slightly. As anxious as Jean was to hear about Marco, taking care of Krista slipped on to the top of his priorities.

“Was school ok?” He asked, as awkward as could be.

“Yeah.” She answered hoarsely, her voice damaged from staying quiet.

“Did anything fun happen?” He prodded.

“Uh…” Krista rubbed the side of her face a little, as if trying to recall what the day had been like before their mad dash to the hospital. “We watched a caterpillar hatch today during science.”

“Really? That’s cool.” Jean wanted to slap himself for sounding so lame. “What did it look like?”

“It was orange and black with little white dots. Ms. Braus said it was a…” She thought a moment. “Monrock?”

“A Monarch? Wow.” He corrected her gently.

“Yeah, we watched it eat too. And one of the kids wanted to pet it but Ms. Braus said that would hurt it and it needed to sleep.”

“She’s right.” He nodded, agreeing with the absent Ms. Braus.

“Why would it need to sleep? It just finished sleeping.” Krista looked at him, curiosity brimming.

Jean took a breath, working out how to explain the process. “Well, it wasn’t sleeping while it was in the cocoon. It was actually growing and changing; it was growing wings and legs, and rearranging itself into a butterfly.”

“Really?” Krista pouted. “That seems like a lot of work just to become a butterfly. Isn’t it easier to just stay a caterpillar?”

“Ok, um…” Jean tapped his chin. “Say you’re a caterpillar then. You eat leaves and crawl around in the dirt, and birds are constantly after you because you’re a tasty bug, right?” Krista nodded. “And if you’re a tiny bug, life is really scary and dangerous. So, it makes sense that you have to change.”

“Change?” Krista asked quizzically.

“Yeah, change yourself. You’ve gotta eat up a bunch so you can be ready to grow into something different, and better. It’s really difficult to grow that much, but if you go about it by eating as much as you can, then you get to be a butterfly.” Jean patted her head. “But before you can get there you have to be a caterpillar, I guess. A caterpillar is just getting ready to change.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Krista nodded. “We have homework about them, I should ask you to help.”

Before Jean could respond, a nurse stepped out and approached them. “You are here to see Mr. Bodt?”

“Yes.” Jean and Krista responded in unison.

“He’s been moved to post-op and is shortly being moved to a recovery room. Come with me when you’re ready.” She looked kindly at Krista.

Jean picked up her backpack and held Krista’s hand, and followed the nurse through the swinging doors. She guided the pair through the maze known as the community hospital, and led them to the room at the end of the hall. It was currently unoccupied, causing Krista to slump in disappointment. She climbed on to the visitor’s chair, staring at the empty spot for the bed, and slumped her shoulders. Jean looked helplessly at the nurse, silently asking where Marco was.

“He’ll be in in a few moments, they just left the ward.” She smiled, then left the room.

Agonizing silence passed while they waited to see Marco. Images with Marco covered in cuts and bruises and gauze ate away at Jean. He hadn’t learned how hurt he was, and suddenly it killed him not to know. Not just for himself, but for the little girl holding his shirt and trying not to cry.

The sound of rolling brought them both to attention as a bed entered the room. Jean’s heart dropped when his eyes met the sheets.

Marco’s arms were above the bed. The left one was wrapped up with a cast, with gauze patched all the way up his side to around his temple. It looked like there was bandaging on his chest under his apron. His eyes were only half open, with a pair of black eyes already turned purple. The bridge of his nose had a split covered with a bandaid. The position of his leg implied that it was braced.

“Daddy!” Krista scrambled off the chair and up on the bed, into Marco’s right arm. The moment he had her she burst into tears. Jean took her place at the chair, and watched Marco stroke her hair gently. The soft shushing extended beyond Krista and right to Jean, who allowed himself to breathe out for the first time in a few hours. Yeah, he looked like absolute shit- but he was awake, and moving, and just… not gone.

Krista calmed down slowly, occasionally sniffling and hiccuping. Marco kissed her forehead gently, and looked tiredly at Jean. “So, how was your day dear?”

“Better than yours, dear.” Jean laughed dryly. “Much, much better.”


	12. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuzzy good feelings.

It took a while to get Krista to go to bed that night. Marco insisted that he would be fine on his own, and that they should go home and get some sleep because Krista had school tomorrow. She point blank refused, and demanded that she not be separated from Marco. She carefully untied her shoes, slid under Marco’s covers, and promptly attached herself to his side. Jean carefully suggested that there was really no fighting her on the issue, and there was no harm in keeping her here for the night. Defeated, Marco sighed and stroked Krista's hair with his good arm. Jean stood up.

"I'll get Reiner to take her to school in the morning."

Marco gave him a puzzled look. "Where are you going?"

"Uh... Back to the house?" Jean halted at the door.

"How were you planning on getting there again?"

"I can walk." He answered with a shrug.

"Don't bother." Marco pointed back at the comfortable chair Jean had just been occupying. "You'll be walking all night." After a long pause, he nodded and sank back into the chair.

The room held a kind of sterile glow within it. The hallway light shone under the door, with a shadow passing by every so often. The windows showed only a view of the parking lot, with streetlight creeping on to the plain walls and floor. All the machines attached to Marco gave off an unnerving artificial light; in fact, the only one unbothered by their surroundings was Krista, who seemed to be so deeply asleep one might mistake her for an escaped coma patient. The two men did nothing but stare at the ceiling for a long time, listening to Krista snore and nurses chatter quietly at the station.

"Hey Jean?" Marco murmured.

"Mm." Jean replied as quietly, as if afraid to wake up the furniture.

"Was she really worked up?" Marco's voice dripped with guilt.

"Not until she saw you." Jean answered. "She was holding together 'til she saw how fucked up you got."

Marco sighed, his voice shaking. "I made her so worried..."

"If you're gonna assign blame, blame the goddamn ceiling." Jean frowned. "And don't beat yourself up, the building already covered that."

Marco huffed. "Thanks."

"Don't worry so much about her." Jean turned to look at Marco. "I know it's pointless to tell you that, but that kid can take a lot."

"She only has to because of me..." Marco sounded almost choked up. "I keep feeling scared that it's impossible to do this without her mother... And that I'm just a worthless father."

"Stop right there." Jean said forcefully, startling Marco into looking at him. "I'm gonna have to put you on hold for a moment. You want to talk shitty, worthless human beings?" Jean allowed himself a breath before he continued. "The last time I was in this goddamn hellhole, they pulled a syringe out of my arm, plugged an IV in, then left me to writhe around like a worm for days while I got a dose of heroine that really should have killed me out of my system. I rolled around sweating, crying, puking, and screaming while people looked down their noses at me and tut-tutted as they left my earshot. Then when I was done, I walked out so I could find my dealer and do it all over again. Now that, that is a worthless person. Not a guy working his ass off for the most adorable little girl to walk the face of the earth, who took in a worthless piece of shit that originally broke into his house and didn't even kick him out, even though he probably still hates that particular piece of scum and would like him to kindly get the fuck out, but is too kind to say so. So, Marco, you are not the most worthless human being, you just happen to be laying next to him."

Marco just stared, processing all he had just heard. Most of it Jean and not intended on sharing, but maybe he was exhausted from the frantic day, or just tired of bottling it. Whatever the reason, he turned back to stare at the ceiling.

"Jean I..." Here it was. Jean quickly squeezed his eyes closed, awaiting his banishment from the house. He rapidly formed a plan to walk back to the house, scoop up clothes and his paychecks and find somewhere to crash, maybe Connie's -

"... Don't want you to leave."

"Huh?" Jean replied intelligently.

"Of course you can stay." Marco restated. "Krista really seems to like you, and it's kind of helpful to have another person around her, so she's not alone as often. And..." Marco also returned his sight to the ceiling. "... And I want to help you. Because I'm really sorry about everything that happened all those years ago."

It was Jean's turn to process everything that was just said. Marco didn't want him to leave...? And he even was apologizing about what had happened so long ago...  

"I'm sorry too." Jean spat out finally. "For being a dick, and not talking to you and, uh, for breaking your window."

Marco smiled a smile that Jean had not seen a glimpse of since high school. "Don't worry about the window."

"I'll pay to fix it, I swear." And this time, he meant to fix everything. The room returned to its silence, though this time the inner glow was much more welcome. It wasn't very long until the last two-thirds of the room fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrestled with this scene for a while, but cranked it out in the end.


	13. Marco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peeing is exciting.

Never before had peeing been such an obstacle for Marco. He’d woken up circa 2 am, from a disturbance in his nethers. With sleepy reflexes, he sat up, with instant regret. Not only had he pulled a sleeping Krista up with him, every area on his left side screamed in protest. After excessive panting and wincing, he managed to slide Krista off and swung his legs over the side of his bed. The bathroom, conveniently located all the way on the other side of the room, took so long to reach that he was sure the sun would have risen by the time he arrived. Once inside, it was all he could do to maintain his balance long enough to proceed.

In the bright, sanitary bathroom light, Marco got the first real look at himself since the previous morning. He was greeted with a version of himself half covered in bandages, and the visible skin on his left side an angry red. There was a neat line traveling all the way to where the pain ended in his mid thigh, all starting to bruise where visible; no wonder Krista had burst into tears upon seeing him.

Krista. His heart tightened. He honestly thought for a few moments that he had left her for good. When they’d pulled him from the rubble after the building collapsed, he wondered if this was some sort of heavenly hazing. His last thought had been of her, then strangly, of Jean with her, the two immersed in play. That’s right, he’d been jealous of Jean. And somewhere in his half-consciousness, he had forgiven and asked forgiveness of him without even knowing how much he desired it. Strange, very strange.

Slowly he traveled back to his bed and rested, sore all over from the short trip. In his absence his daughter had spread herself all over the bed, as if to absorb the warmth he left behind. With a sigh he nudged her over, and replaced her on her side.

Without meaning to he faced Jean, and was completely out of energy to turn the other direction. His body was exhausted from the strain of movement; however, his mind had different ideas. Jean’s face looked so much cleaner than it had when he had broken the window by his front door. It looked younger as well- more closely resembling the Jean that Marco had left in high school. Not to say that things hadn’t changed. Though he remained stocky as ever, he had gained some build. Wrinkles had started to form prematurely on his brow, most likely from years of worry. Up close you could see that his face and neck all had light scars from god knows what. A small glint by his ear reminded Marco of his stupid little earring that he had loved so much (albeit covered by a mop of hair fraught with split ends- he would really need a cut soon). Currently he was curled on his side, resting on a fully reclined chair next to Marco, so close he could touch him. As he thought that, Marco was overcome with the urge to do so; his hand twitched as if anticipating the action. It was very true that since they had met again after so many years he had refrained from touching Jean at all. Stranger was that this thought had not occurred to Marco until, well, now.

Jean had thought Marco wanted him to leave, when in reality he wanted nothing of the sort. Since he had fallen back into his life with Krista, he wanted nothing more than him to stay.

 _That is so freaking annoying._ Marco thought, allowing his eyes to flutter closed, taking in a last glance at Jean before rest overcame him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was debating writing this for a while, but went with it in the end.


	14. Marco

Marco couldn’t wait to be home. From the moment he slid into the car after being discharged he longed for the smell of his house and his darkroom, of his couch and his daughter. He almost wanted to tell Jean to drive faster so he could put everything behind him. Marco was not a fan of the hospital; it was where Mina had spent her final days, where his parents had died, where Krista came when she was critical, and now it had been where he had made her worry ceaselessly about him. To get out of there felt like cheating the devil, with only skin that had healed darker, leaving darker patches all over his left side. It was still tender, but at least he could walk.

His gaze drifted to Jean, who was focusing on navigating a hairpin turn. He had taken it upon himself to take Krista to and from the hospital and school every night since the one they all spent together. He had stayed with her and taken care of her, with some help and leniency from Reiner of course. His chest tightened.

“Thank you.”

“Hmm?” Jean had clearly been paying very close attention when he pulled into the driveway.

“Thank you… for taking care of Krista and for staying.” Marco stayed in the car even after it was turned off.

“S’no big deal.” Jean answered quietly, without looking at Marco.

“It is a big deal.” Marco insisted.

“You’ve done a lot for me too.” Jean responded, getting out of the car. “This is just payback.”

Marco sat with the unexpected sting lingering in the air. Of course he knew how Jean had intended it, but the fact that his kindness was only reciprocation pained him. As he entered the house, a sudden urge struck him to do something for Jean: not just to help him through a tough spot, not just a couch and a bathroom and a job. Suddenly the tetris pieces fell into place.

“Jean.” Marco went to the kitchen, and briefly dug around under the sink.

“Mm?” His voice drifted in from the other room.

“Come here.”

“What’s up-” Marco grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the staircase. “H-Hey!”

“Just come on.” Marco insisted, dragging him to his bedroom. Jean followed, bewildered. Marco pulled the trash bag he’d retrieved, and spread it on the floor in front of his bed. “Sit here.”

“Ok…” Jean sat, looking more confused then before. Marco swiftly left for the bathroom, then returned with a pair of scissors and a spray bottle.

“I’m giving you a haircut, you’re starting to look like you’re part of the counterculture movement.” Marco sat on the edge of the bed and turned Jean facing away from him.

“You don’t have to-” Jean started.

“Don’t sweat it.” Marco commanded, effectively shutting Jean up.

For a long while it was just the sound of spraying and snipping. Marco navigated around Jean’s head, separating the split ends from the hair and gently working his fingers through it. He had never seen it this long, and the look really did not suit him. What he currently had was what looked like an overgrown undercut, so Marco proceeded to use that as a template to clean up Jean’s head. Having to be frugal had caused Marco to learn many things, and cutting Krista’s hair had been one of them. Several hours on youtube and some “experimental” haircuts on his own head had caused him to be skilled enough to satisfy his daughter’s hair need for the moment. And now that skill seemed most convenient to help Jean, something that had recently become a priority.

Marco left again and returned with clippers, to finish the bottom portion of the cut. He ran his fingers up the underside of Jean’s head, recalling when he’d done this before. Usually it involved some sort of cuddly position, with Jean’s head in his lap. He used to hold his head and stroke his cheeks, just staring at him for what felt like months until one of them would make a stupid face and send the other into riots of laughter.

“Done.” Marco said quietly, putting all his tools down. “You can go look if you want.”

Jean left to take a look, running his fingers through his newly groomed head. Marco watched, noting a faint blush his hair could no longer cover. With a slight chuckle, he cleaned up the trimmed hair and allowed himself, just for a little while, to remember. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all thought this was going somewhere else, didn't you.  
> Jesus, is it chapter 14 already? Guess time flies when your worshipping fictional gay men.  
> Good news is I got into college! Which means less time stressing, more time writing! (until august, when I move in and the world implodes).


	15. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams, screams, juice.

For Jean, it had been a very,  _ very _ long time since him and his subconscious had any sort of friendly interactions. The last few dreams he’d had usually ended in profuse sweating or screams of terror, when he was sober enough to even dream. This was part of the reason why when he awoke from the first serene dream he’d had in years, it was scarier than any nightmare.

He’d been lying in somebody’s lap. It was hard to identify who, since he’d spent most of the dream marveling how wonderful it was to be in a lap, almost as if he had his eyes closed within the dream. All he knew was the warmth radiating through his chest, and fingers running gently through his hair, tugging at the snags. They were nice hands, leaving behind a trail of hotness he rather enjoyed. 

Then, of course, it was Marco. They sat in the back of Jean’s old Civic, so deeply enthralled in each other it was difficult to find where one boy ended and the other began. Those fingers traced all around him, leaving that hotness again; Jean basked in the warmth, the glow that was Marco, bathed completely in the memory of their first night together as if ten years had not passed since they parted. The temperature climbed as Jean re-explored dream Marco, learning every bit of him again, for he remembered much more than he thought he did. The fervency increased, until he seemed unable to bear it, and he came face to face with the floor as he rolled off the couch. 

The ceiling and him gandered at each other a while, while Jean waited for the throb in his skull to subdue after smacking face first to the ground. He’d had a _wet_ _dream_. A wet dream about _Marco_. It took him a few moments to regain control of his breathing. 

_ Marco doesn’t love me  _ he had to tell himself.  _ Marco doesn’t love me. _

_ He probably never did.  _ He repeated, calming slightly.  _ Just forget about it.  _ The dream fading from his memory, he ran his fingers through his undercut. Marco had actually done a really good job, considering how long Jean had been homeless. His hair had been a wreck long before that, but not showering for weeks on end had taken its toll on it. 

Again he asked why. Why had Marco been so kind to him? Why, when he had so much on his plate with raising a child and with bringing home money for her, followed closely by an intense injury, was Marco Bodt, former love of his life, taking care of a street rat like Jean? It didn’t make any sense. But, to think of it now, Marco didn’t really ever make sense to Jean. Why Marco even spent time with Jean before was now a mystery to him. Jean had no interest in education, while Marco had been determined to go off to school and away from him, which had been the final nail in the coffin for them. And still, he cared. Marco cared for some strange reason. 

After removing himself from the ground he heard shouting from above him. The sound resonated throughout the house due to it’s small size, allowing Jean to hear more detail as the volume increased. 

“... I don’t want to! I hate it!”

“Krista, don’t shout at me-”

“I don’t want to do it!” Something hit the wall with a rattling noise. “I’m not going!”

“Krista.” Marco sounded like he was trying not to plead. “You have to go to see Dr. Mike, otherwise you won’t feel better-”

“I’M NEVER GONNA FEEL BETTER!” Krista screamed, stomping her feet. 

“Krista!” Marco was trying not to yell. 

“Go AWAY!” She screamed again, stomping anyways. “I don’t wanna GO!”

“Krista you are being a child.” Marco said fiercely.

“I DON’T CARE!” A door slammed violently.

Silence followed for a few minutes before Marco slumped down the stairs with a small bottle in his hand. He sat on the couch by Jean and sighed deeply. After holding the position a moment he pulled out his phone and dialed, rubbing his forehead slightly. 

"Mike please." There was a long pause. "Hello. Yes, this is Marco. Yes. Krista's having a rough time with pain right now, so she won't be here this afternoon.Yes. Alright. I'll call later to reschedule. Thank you." He sighed deeply after hanging up the phone, the picture of stress.

“What’s going on?” Jean asked timidly, having never seen or heard Krista yell.

Marco rubbed his face. “Krista’s cranky and in pain and she doesn’t want to go physical therapy, even though she knows it will make her feel better.” His statement was accompanied by another sigh. “She’s just so stubborn.”

Jean thought for moment, picturing Krista’s evident pain the day they stayed home together. After her screaming match he could imagine her curled up and in tears… the image stirred his chest slightly, causing him to recall hours he’d spent holed up in his own room. The pain of that memory pushed him to his feet and up the stairs before he could realize what he was doing.

Krista was hunched in her bed when Jean opened the door. “GO AWAY!” She sobbed, then looked up to realize it was Jean. Without a word he sat next to her on the bed, watching her desperately wipe off her face. Once more he painfully saw himself sitting where she sat, trying not to make any noise. 

“It’s ok. Just cry.” He said, putting his hand on her head. She gazed at him, astonished, before more tears leaked out. Soon she was bawling again, this time into Jean’s leg, while he stroked her hair very slowly. The reason she was upset was not important at the moment. Jean hummed softly while she cried herself out. He moved his hand down her hair to her back, feeling her breathing and sniffing.

“Could you rub my knees?” She rasped finally, between hiccups of breath. Jean obliged, massaging her joint gently. Now that he thought about it, most tantrums were not about what they seemed to be; Marco had said she was having “trouble with pain”. She must have been containing herself for a while. 

“What’s that song?” She finally asked, her knee starting to relax slightly.

“I heard it the one time I went to church.” Jean said, switching to the other knee. 

“What’s it called?” 

“I think it’s something to do with a rugged cross.”

“Why are you humming it?”

Jean didn’t have an answer ready. “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?” Krista looked at him curiously, large eyes piercing him.

“Why do you ask so many questions?” Jean huffed slightly. Krista giggled in response, with a hiccup in the middle. He continued to rub her knee thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I heard the church singing it once and I just felt really relaxed when I did…”

“I think I’ve heard it before. There was this episode of Dr. Who…” Krista hummed a timid verse of the song.

“Yeah that’s it.”

“Do you know the words?” Krista looked up at him.

“Oh God, you’re asking me to reach here kid.” Jean looked up as if the lyrics might be on the ceiling. “It starts with ‘On a hill far away…’”

Krista hummed the part she knew for a bit while Jean tried to recall the words. The snippit about the church was true- as a kid his mother had wanted him to go to church with her. It hadn’t been the most pleasant experience being told he needed to go because there was something wrong with him that needed to be fixed. But he went anyway. There had been about two hours of preaching and singing of hymns that he didn’t know the words to nor did he care to when at the end, a soft, beautiful kind of song erupted from the pews,  drifting through the high ceiling and echoing back to his ears…

_ “On a hill far away, _

_ stood an old rugged cross _

_ the emblem of suffering, and shame. _

_ And I love that old cross, _

_ with the dearest and best, _

_ for the world of those sinners was slain. _

_ So I’ll cherish thee, old rugged cross, _

_ til my trophies at last I lay down. _

_ I will claim to the old rugged cross, _

_ and exchange it someday _

_ for a crown.” _

Krista listened to him recall, her eyes trained on his face. Silence hung after the song. 

“Elbows please.” She whispered. Jean moved from her knee to her elbow. “That song is really pretty.” 

“Is it?” Jean replied. “I always thought it was kind of sad.”

“Mhm.” Krista shook her head. “It sounds sad but I don’t think it is.”

“Really.” He mumbled, running his fingers across her joint.

“I like it. Can you sing it again?”

Jean obliged, this verse quieter than the first. He felt her arm muscles unwind, her shoulders dropping slowly. Occasionally she would shiver slightly as her muscles went slack. Her tears were now gone, and her reddened face rested on his leg. “Better now?” he brushed his fingers through her hair gently. She replied with a nod.

“Let’s get you some water.” Jean lifted her, balancing her on his hip. Krista’s hands wrapped around behind his neck as he carried her to the kitchen, setting her down on the counter where she’d sat many times before. She sniffed congestedly, avoiding Marco’s gaze. After shuffling through the fridge Jean procured some orange juice in a Thomas the Train Engine mug for her. “This will help you ok? And it’ll cool you down. Like an ice cube for your body.” Jean nodded like this was important fact he was covering. He glanced at Marco, who seemed astonished at the pair of them standing in his kitchen. He waited until Krista had drank her juice, then knelt on the ground in front of her. His head was about the level of her knees, so he was looking up at her like a churchgoer kneels at a pew.

“Krista?” He said softly. “Dr. Mike would really like to see you today. I’m sure he wants to help you with the pain.”

Her lower lip started to tremble again, and the tears leaked out before she could stop them. “It-” she sniffled, wiping with the backs of her hands. “It really hurts and it won’t stop-”

“Shh, I know baby, I know it hurts.” Marco reached up and ran his fingers through the back of her hair.

“I didn’ wanna let you down or let Dr. Mike down and it won’t stop hurting and-” her shaking began again, enough for Marco to pull her into his arms. He bounced her slightly, as if she were a newborn, rubbing her lower back. 

“You’ve never let me down Krista. You’re being very brave right now.” He kissed her head over and over. 

Finally her tears stopped again, and Marco cooled her face with a washcloth. 

“Can we go see Dr. Mike now?”

“Yes, of course baby. Go get dressed, we’ll leave soon.” He walked her to the stairs and set her down five steps up, so she would have to climb less. Her footsteps faded back into her room.

Marco’s gaze turned to Jean, who had observed everything that had happened. “How did you…” At this point the bags under his eyes looked more pronounced than ever. The dark, raw patches of his skin were starting to lose their texture, and the slump of his shoulders conveyed fatigue in the most obvious manner. Jean’s heart sank a little, as if the evident stress of Marco’s life was radiating outward. 

Jean looked away and scratched his ear. “I’ve just been there is all.” 

“Thank you so much, Jean.” Krista scooted down the stairs, tying her sunhat on. 

Jean could do nothing but nod as they left, trying as hard as humanly possible not to enjoy the ring of his own name in Marco’s mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy at college you would not believe  
> Anywho  
> This has been several months in development.  
> Um.  
> No idea when the next one will be up. Thanks for all the kudos!


End file.
